Page 13

Two hours.

You don’t even know him.

It’s never stopped me before.

Was that what she and Cress alluded to when they spoke in sign?

Sex?

“Shall we play then?” I ask. “If you only have two hours, I’m afraid we don’t have time for more than a few rounds.”

“Story of my life,” she grumbles, dropping back onto the soles of her bare feet. She plucks the socks from my hand and bends to tug them on. “We might as well get on with it. Where does this brother of yours keep his cards?”

I cross the room to the wooden desk. Opening the drawer, I push aside bric-a-brac to grab a hand-painted deck—a gift from another lover—and venture back to where Rory sits on the floor, ankles crossed, with her back pressed against the edge of the velvet sofa.

“How about whoever has the highest number gets to ask the other a question?” I say, sitting opposite her. “Simple enough?”

She bats her eyelashes. “Do you think I need a simple game because I’m a simple woman, Quill?”

“There isn’t a fiber in my being that finds you simple.” I shuffle the cards, annoyed with myself for saying such a thing. “I’d merely like for you to get to know me better before you decide to strip naked in my brother’s living room again. You may determine I’m not worthy enough to lay my eyes on you.”

She toys with the hem of my shirt, and the movement lures my gaze to the tender vein in her thigh. I swallow past the burning in my throat, the unquenchable thirst, and the temptation in her eyes as she leans forward.

“Don’t trouble yourself,” she says finally. “There have been far uglier and more undeserving men than you who have had the pleasure of seeing me naked.”

That deep, nearly primal part of me threatens to surface again at the mere mention of anyone other than me touching her. It swirls in my stomach, courses through my veins, pounds against my non-beating heart, and whispers, Mine.

I nearly tear the cards in half.

Black hell.

It couldn’t be— She couldn’t be⁠—

Alarm courses through me. It bucks against the strange, unusual feelings blinking themselves awake.

Instead of humoring her or these foreign feelings with a response, I deal us both a card and set the deck between us on the rug. She flips hers over and grins. A nine. I reveal mine. A three.

“Maybe I do like this game,” she hums, pressing her lips together. “Does my being forward displease you?”

“Quite the opposite,” I say. “It intrigues me.”

She brightens as she sits up straighter, somehow more confident than a minute ago.

We each draw another card. She wins. Again.

An addictive shade of pink brightens across her cheeks as she asks, “Have you had many mortal lovers?”

“I—what?”

“You heard me, Quill.” Her eyes are fever-bright as the scent of her desire thickens in the air between us. If I were to touch her now, she’d be dripping. She squeezes her thighs together as if to confirm my suspicion. My stomach tightens. “But on the off chance you didn’t hear me correctly with your expert vampire hearing, I asked if you’ve had many mortal lovers.”

“How did you⁠—”

“Know you were a vampire?” she says coyly. “Well, to start, Cress told me she scented it the moment you walked into Gild the Lily.” She huffs out a laugh. “Did you really think it’d take me ten minutes to get changed? Over half that time was spent convincing her you didn’t seem like a psychotic murderer.”

My eyes widen. Why else would she use the word ‘scented’ unless she knows… “So you’re aware Cress is a werewolf?”

“Of course I am. She’s my best friend.”